The World Was on Fire (No One Could Save Me But You)
by Merenwen Luinwel
Summary: His steady gaze continued; the one that made her feel off balance, like she was slipping a little further away from herself and more towards him every day. A scene between 1x12 and 1x13. One Shot.


Author's Note: The scene in which Wyatt, who couldn't make up his mind before, makes up his mind now or The scene in which we see how Lucy reacts to what she's done

She had done a terrible thing. For a good reason.

 _How did that make her any better than Flynn?_

The thought pissed her off and her hand slammed into the exit door handle, pushing the door open much harder than she meant to. The door swung wide, slamming into the side of the building. The light above the door flickered twice and went out, bathing this side of the building in an eerie moonlit glow that unnerved her just a little considering the recent events.

She'd ducked out this side entrance, the opposite one that they normally used, hoping to avoid anyone. After the obligatory questioning from Agent Christopher and the increasingly annoying interrogating from Mason, she'd gone straight to her locker and changed into her modern clothes, briefly noting that the damned engagement ring was still there.

 _Amy…_

She'd dumped her borrowed western garb in a pile near the entrance to their costume department and darted towards the side door; feeling relieved when she passed the door to the guys' locker room and heard the shower running. The last thing she needed was to see Rufus' concerned eyes staring at her again; she'd had enough of that on the ride back from the cabin. And she really didn't need…

 _Well, crap…I should have known…_

He leaned against the driver side of her car ( _which should have been metallic navy blue but was now dark grey…apparently the Lucy in this version of the timeline hadn't wanted to wait for the special edition color like she had_ ). His feet were crossed at the ankles, arms resting comfortably on his chest, eyes closed. Reminding her of another meeting: when his "ma'am" drawl still annoyed her, she was just a confused history professor, she'd never had to hold a gun ( _much less fire one_ ) and time travel was just a silly thing she saw in films.

She wasn't surprised that he anticipated she would duck out quickly to avoid them. She didn't know how he understood her and how she worked so quickly. Not that she wanted to think of herself as a complicated person, but she had hoped she was a little less easy to read. Somehow he'd seemed to be able to know exactly what she was thinking, almost from day one.

She didn't say anything as she walked towards him; she knew he wasn't asleep and she knew he heard her approaching. She reached forward and grasped the driver door handle, relieved that this timeline's Lucy had made sure to get the keyless entry upgrade. She pulled open the door, tossed her purse on the passenger seat and looked at him. His eyes were open now and he'd slightly turned his body towards her but other than that he hadn't moved. She faced him, caught in the triangle of the open door and him. She straightened her spine, trying to look normal, unaffected. She managed a tight smile, stretched thin over her teeth, and choked out "I'm fine," but the words sounded hollow even to her, not the least bit convincing and she knew he didn't believe her.

He just stared at her and she could see him taking inventory of her still disheveled appearance, the dark circles under eyes, the slight shake of her hands and the way her knuckles went white as she flexed her grip on the car door. She wondered briefly if he had always been this intense or if it was a learned behavior after her death. His steady gaze continued; the one that made her feel off balance, like she was slipping a little further away from herself and more towards him every day. And since Arkansas…the slipping seemed faster, more out of control and a good part of her ( _the control freak in her_ ) hated it and wanted it to stop. But a small part of her ( _the part that reached for him, called for him_ ) definitely didn't.

"Lucy…"

His tone was so soft, just above a whisper; as if he was afraid she would spook, dive into her car and take off. Her weak façade crumbled and her hands went to her face and before she could stop them, the tears were coming. She felt him step closer and then his arms were around her, one hand sneaking into her hair, the other around her back, pressing her head into his chest. He was so close and her heart started beating faster, her arms were wrapping around him, holding onto him tightly, soaking the front of his jacket. He swayed them gently back and forth, soothing her until the tears stopped and she finally stepped back, putting some distance between them.

Her right hand reached forward as if disturbed at the lack of contact, brushing the wet spot on his jacket lightly. She gave him a small smile, a real one this time, and her hand dropped by her side. She had to clear her throat before she could speak again.

"I killed a horrible man so innocent people would live." It sounded cheesy as she said it, like some hack movie line, but that was their lives these days.

He nodded his head at her statement, his hair falling forward to brush his forehead, and added… "But it's still hard to deal with".

His statement took the words out of her mouth and she thought about his training, about all he'd done in the military, about his pep talk in Germany and how he'd probably had this conversation with people before. How he'd probably had this conversation with himself once. She watched him shove his hands in his jacket pockets and take a deep breath, preparing for what he was going to say.

"You made a choice Lucy". It sounded so similar to their earlier bar conversation…Wyatt Logan, believing in choice and free will…never fate.

He looked at her with such understanding, such confidence in her that her heart clenched and she could feel herself leaning towards him, seeking that comfort once again. His defensive words echoing in her head ( _"Hey! We did something good. You should be thanking us"_ ).

He didn't seem to notice, just kept talking. "Bass is right, you'll live with it. But how you live with it is up to you." His right hand left his pocket, reaching up to rub the back of his neck; his head dropping down against his chest as he suddenly started shuffling his feet awkwardly back and forth. "And if you need someone to talk to about it, get you over this hump, you can always call me. Anytime". He paused again…"even though we both know I'm not the expert in living with it".

She closed her eyes, smiling even though it's probably an inappropriate reaction to the implications of PTSD. She remembered it vividly after all: his dilated pupils, the sweat on his brow, the faraway look on his face when she finally got his attention and later listening ( _eavesdropping_ ) on his conversation where he revealed what had really been bothering him the whole time. His story had inspired her…led to the words she wrote in that crucial letter. _Had she? Even back then?_ She recalled a desperate grasp of his face, shouted words ( _"I need you!"_ ) and the most solid, reassuring hand grabbing hers, _that just happened to fit perfectly around her own,_ telling her to get ready to run. She knew now that she would follow him anywhere, anytime, to any time he asked.

She nodded at him, acknowledging his offer, and turned to step inside her vehicle. She watched as he moved his body out of the way of the closing car door, admiring the smooth, confident way with which he moved. It just made her want to know more about him; know if he had always been that confident or if his grandfather or the service had taught him that assurance. He nodded back at her and closed the car door, turning to walk away after a quick wave.

She wasn't sure why she did it, she wasn't sure if it was a selfish move ( _maybe if he dealt with the pain, maybe if he can't fix the past, can't bring her back, maybe if he saw the possibilities_ ) or an empathetic one, but she found herself quickly pressing the start button of her vehicle, powering up the windows to roll the driver one down. "Wyatt!"

He turned towards her, hands back in his pockets, head tilted to the side, a small smile ghosting on his lips. _Had he wanted her to call him back?_

The words came out in a rush, as if she gave a thought to them and what message she was trying to tell him she would lose her nerve and never say it. "If I had to do it again"…her voice trailed off for a moment. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, her heartbeat roaring in her ears, her chest tight. _What if it worked?_ She wasn't sure if she could handle this. If she could handle losing him.

She tried again, "If I had to do it again. If I could save innocent lives by taking the life of a man who did horrible things..." His blue eyes stared at her, his brow furrowing only slightly as her words seemed to sink in. He didn't try to say anything, didn't try to acknowledge what she was telling him, but she noticed the tightening of his shoulders, the way his chest rose quickly with his shallow breaths. _She noticed everything about him. Always._

"I'd do it again". The words were spoken louder this time. With a surety that surprised her. She wondered if she should explain further, tell him more, but she could see his jaw tightening, teeth clenching, the decision in his eyes and she knew it wasn't necessary.

She rolled up her window, put the car in drive and slowly rolled the vehicle forward out of her parking spot. She watched him in her rearview mirror; he hadn't yet moved an inch to his car but she could see the determined set of his shoulders. Knew he had made up his mind.

A few short hours later: after a much needed shower, after finally looking at her cell phone and seeing a missed call from Noah ( _that she promptly ignored)_ , after a useless Wikipedia search of Jesse James and more history, she had just laid down for a fitful sleep when she heard a pounding knock at her door.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know it's so late….but I need to tell you something and I'm only telling you because I trust you".

Her protest to his proposal sounded weak, even though she tried to sound incredulous, as if she didn't try to put the thought in his head. It's why she folded so quickly.

 _Follow him anywhere. Anytime he asked._

"Ok, let me get dressed".

She brushed past him; her mind made up…but…

She never thought he'd try to go without her. Now she felt like she made a mistake encouraging him. Now she felt like she needed to talk him out of it. He wouldn't be on their team anymore. She was going to lose him.

"Oh".

A whisper so low that she wondered if she actually verbalized it, if he actually heard it. Based on his face, he just might have. Her knees buckled all on their own, the staircase solid beneath her. Hands pressing against her face. A deep breath. "What do you need me to do?"

 _Twenty minutes head start._

Her right hand quickly reached forward again, brushing that same spot on his jacket. The one she had soaked with her tears just hours earlier.

"Good luck Wyatt".

The "ma'am" giving her chills.

The door closing behind him.

The realization that no matter how much she was slipping towards him…despite everything…right now…he wasn't any closer to being hers.


End file.
